


L'air et la feu

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Historium Bingo, M/M, Melancholy, Poetry, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: He will let his words go free, into the air, into the fire. And he will embrace the dream.A story about dreams, words, a blood-red bird, and weakness as strength.





	L'air et la feu

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of sequel to [And yet my sky shall not want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926917).
> 
> The title is taken from Act IV, scene II of Henry V.
> 
> This was written for the "echo" square of my [Historium](https://historium.dreamwidth.org) [bingo](https://historium.dreamwidth.org/28158.html) card.

_Only of the night & it's darkness am I calling_  
_Only of the night_  
_My relief in it's falling_  
_Breathe on me, eclipse my mind_  
_It's in some kind of disarray_  
_Killing time, I cradle far_

Talk Talk: [Chameleon day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3d2OZsQejWQ).

*

In this tower, he writes.

In this tower, he dreams. He dreams of freedom. His heart calls out to the echoes of the past. But he is here, in the dark, and he keeps his thoughts to himself. There is no one to tell them to, anyway. All these stories, secrets and confessions, they seem to belong to another man. But they are his own. They are all he has, and he gathers them close to his heart. Bright like stars, like brave spirits, like old friends.

Like secret words.

Day after day, the rooms change. The castle is a gilded cage for the blood-red bird in his heart. The pain is bright and sharp and alive, and it wounds him, it's like broken glass in his mouth. It rages and pulses, sharp and angry, like a warning that he can almost touch. And it makes him crave for more. He is not ashamed. Here, he is numb and cold, and this pain makes him feel something.

It gives him something. In a way, it gives him hope. It gives him the words.

He is afraid, but he has to keep going. He falls, but he gets up. He tries to walk again. He doesn't stop, even when it hurts. _Especially_ when it hurts. He is a flickering flame. The fire rises, and he cradles the fire. He pushes back the night.

Here, there are only dreams, only ghosts. He knows they aren't really there, but he has to stay alive somehow. So he speaks to them. Sometimes, he thinks that it is Montjoy standing at the door, the strength of his loyalty making him larger than life, bringing him back home. Sometimes, he talks to Charles, who knows his heart, his thoughts, his unspoken words. His silences. He doesn't need to say anything, because he _knows_.

Before the battle, he had clasped Charles's hand, he had looked into his eyes and prayed that fate would keep him safe. _Keep me in your heart_ is what he had meant to say. But he hadn't. And it might be too late now.

Here, his sadness has a sort of rhythm, like the beat of a drum. He counts the hours, the words stuck in his throat. The breaths he takes. The ones he doesn't. He feels his heartbeat, loud and fast and urgent in his ears, trying to say something. And he still remembers how to pray. How to be weak. How to ask for something that he might never have.

He will let his words go free, into the air, into the fire. And he will embrace the dream. And the dream will kiss his eyes, and the dream will ask _I missed you, did you miss me too?_ And it will know the answer.

The red bird goes quiet, at last. It hides, it takes away the tears. And soon, it will be morning. And he will stop the cold and the pain. He will leave that fire inside his heart. And it will hurt a little bit less.

And if the door opens, he will walk out. He will take this step. It hurts, but he will not stop. Even if he falls, he will try, he will try to live with this pain. And if this is a dream, he will treasure it. It will never be too late. He will take these words from his mouth and into his heart. He will keep them deep within. And yes, he will be weak.


End file.
